


When I Don’t Touch You (It’s a Mistake in Any Life)

by alasse



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 20:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17029731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasse/pseuds/alasse
Summary: Post-canon. Lara Jean set up a catering business in Chapel Hill after college, and she gets an event request that could make her reputation like nothing else: a wedding for two members of the UNC Sports Department. Of course, it turns out she only has a month to pull it off, and, by the way? Her ex-boyfriend Peter Kavinsky is one of the groomsmen. What could possibly go wrong?





	When I Don’t Touch You (It’s a Mistake in Any Life)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inthebackoftheimpala (UnsungFury)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnsungFury/gifts).



> Dear **inthebackoftheimpala** happy Yule! I hope you have a wonderful holiday, and that you enjoy this story. It was an absolute pleasure writing it for you.
> 
> Title taken from a poem by Bob Hicock. Beta’ed by the ever amazing M, who always saves me and my writing, and did brave battle against my irrepressible love for dashes; any remaining mistakes (and completely unrealistic details regarding event planning) are my own.

Lara Jean was in the middle of trying to perfect a raspberry-almond-whipped cream cake—her nemesis for the past few weeks—when the call came. Later, she’ll wonder if that meant anything, if she should have known, somehow, and avoided the call altogether; some time after _that_ , she’ll remind herself to stop trying to make cakes and pies tell the future. 

The point was, however, that she was in the midst of doing battle against the one cake she still couldn’t bake right, no matter what different combinations or ratios of almond-to-raspberry-to-flour she used, when Ana Maria picked up the phone with her usual chirpy “Evening Songs Event Planning and Catering, good morning!” and her voice changed into barely concealed excitement at whatever the potential customer said on the other end of the line. 

By the time Ana Maria got off the phone, Lara Jean was tossing the failed experiment into the trash, which was why she was rather unenthused to hear whatever was coming. 

“Oh my god, Lara Jean - you’ll never believe who just asked us to do their wedding!”

“Hopefully someone who doesn’t want a raspberry-almond-cream cake?” Lara Jean replied, staring sadly at her baking supplies.

“No!” Ana Maria replied, shoving Lara Jean lightly on the shoulder. “It was one of the Heels’ physical therapists! Actually, both the bride _and_ the groom are Sports Medicine staff for the university. This is huge!”

Lara Jean finally felt herself snap to attention. It really _was_ huge — if Evening Songs broke into the UNC Athletic Department event roster, it could mean serious growth for them, enough to hire additional staff besides Ana Maria, Silvie and Johnny so Lara Jean could actually get some sleep every once in a while. Of course, that would require them to actually pull it off, but if they did…

“Lara Jean? Are you with me?” 

Ana Maria’s question broke into Lara Jean’s reverie. 

“Yes. Yes, sorry,” Lara Jean replied. “What are the event details?”

Ana Maria smiled. “The bride is going to send the details in a minute. She told me that she’s been having trouble finding a caterer because the wedding date is actually pretty close.”

“How close?” 

“Uh… like, in a month, close?”

A _month_. “Did she mention any numbers? How big?” she asked, fearfully.

“She said around two hundred, maybe a little more?”

Lara Jean felt her heart stop. Of course everyone else had passed! It was crazy to try to put together a wedding of that size in a month! But if Evening Songs passed on this chance, they’d never make it beyond small-time christenings and the occasional retirement party. She took a deep breath. They could do this — _she_ could do this. It would just take a lot of work and absolutely perfect organizational skills, and Lara Jean was renowned for both of those things. 

Of course, if she actually took on the job and then screwed it up, it could mean the end of Evening Songs forever… oh, god. It could turn out like that one time in college when she said she’d do an event for the Pan-Asian society as part of her own member responsibilities but accidentally double-booked herself with the Harvey Milk society who also had an event that day. Before she could spiral any further, however, a voice that sounded a lot like Margot’s in her head (it was always Margot when she needed a stiff talking-to) forced her to stop and calm down. 

Objectively, a 200 person wedding in one month was absolutely _insane_ , and there had to be something at least a little bit weird for the bride and groom to be looking for an event planner and caterer at this stage in the proceedings. However, Lara Jean was owed favors from at least two or three event venues in town —she and her team had come through when their cooks had fallen ill during the great flu outbreak last winter— and she’d made sure to cultivate plenty of suppliers and grocers with cookies and cakes throughout the two years Evening Songs had been open, so she knew she’d have a fair shot at getting everything ready. It was insane, yes, but the payoff could be worth it. 

“Okay. Let me know as soon as the bride emails the details, and we’ll come up with a game plan as soon as possible,” Lara Jean said, and went back to the kitchen to start on the cookies for the Meyers bris. 

Some twenty minutes later, Ana Maria burst into the kitchen with her tablet. “Lara Jean! The email is here!”

Lara Jean wiped her hands clean of flour and took the tablet, quickly opening the “wedding wishlist” from Sarah Christopher, presumably the bride, attached to the email. She skimmed the document quickly — _renovated barn or something foresty, some spicy food, lots of cake, drinks!!!_ —and was already making and discarding various plans - Lavender Oaks Farm could host up to 250 people, she was pretty sure, and she could also look into Rigmor House, and Stuart and Ella both owed her _big_ time so they’d probably be able to figure out a way to accommodate the event - when she hit the names of the people in the wedding party, and froze.

Right there, underneath “groomsmen”, was Peter Kavinsky’s name.

+++

It hadn’t been a horrible break-up, was the thing. No screaming or dreadful scenes, which, in a way, had made it all the more difficult. 

It had been distance, and responsibilities, and a slow but inexorable eating away at that core of certainty that they’d both had, that their relationship could survive every obstacle. It had been missed good-night phone calls, and missed lacrosse games, and study groups and group projects that couldn’t be put off for a three- or four-hour drive, and suddenly not seeing each other every couple of weeks turned into not seeing each other for a month, and then two, and then three… 

And in the midst of all that, it had also been Margot and her dad, and even Lucas and Chris, going on and on about how Lara Jean should enjoy her college years and take advantage of them instead of constantly driving back and forth from UNC to UVA to see Peter, and the persistent guilt Lara Jean couldn’t help but feel that she was distracting Peter from lacrosse and school and important opportunities like his mom had feared, and it all simply got to be too much. 

Midway through sophomore year, they’d broken up—crying, heartbroken, but certain that they had to—and though they’d kept in touch sporadically, contact had eventually dried up into nothing more than passing mentions of what Peter was up to by Kitty every once in a while, and they hadn’t actually seen each other in almost five years. Lara Jean knew, somewhere deep inside, that she’d never really dealt with everything that breaking up with Peter had meant, and she’d dealt even less with how she still felt about him.

She’d chalked up not getting into many serious relationships afterwards to enjoying the single life, which she had, and to being too busy setting up a new business, which she was. It’s not like she’d been some sort of recluse—she’d gone out with Steven for almost a year, and she and John Ambrose had even made a try of it for a few months before finally deciding that they were really better off as friends. But a niggling little _thing_ inside her had always told her it was a little bit more than that, even if she tried to ignore it. 

And now, it seemed, her past had come calling and she’d have to deal with it, whether she was ready or not.

+++

Two days after the email of doom, as Lara Jean had taken to privately calling it, she headed to the Coco Bean to meet with Sarah Christopher and the groom-to-be, Jonas Malicki (and apparent friend of Peter Kavinsky, hence, the creator of Lara Jean’s nightmare) to tell them that she was honored by the opportunity but she couldn’t do their wedding. Ana Maria wanted to kill her, but Lara Jean was certain that trying to pull off a two hundred person wedding in a month was crazy enough without adding an unexpected encounter with her ex-boyfriend and (according-to-Kitty-and-Trina) love of her life.

“Hi! Lara Jean, right?” 

Lara Jean nodded as a short, athletic brunette woman waved at her from a table at the door as soon as she walked into the coffee shop. Sarah Christopher was very much on time, looking very excited to talk about her wedding, and Lara Jean hated that she was about to ruin her day. 

“Please, sit down!” Sarah told her. “Jonas is getting us some coffee and muffins - I made him get in line before everything good ran out.”

Lara Jean sat down gingerly. “Thank you. Um - how did you know it was me?”

“Oh, I got your card from my friend Faye Li?” Sarah replied. “But I knew what you looked like because I was actually at a breakfast you did for her a couple of months ago, for her birthday, and I just loved everything - the food, the decoration… it was so original and beautiful!”

“Thank you,” Lara Jean said, blushing slightly. It didn’t matter that she’d been running Evening Songs for two years—and that she’d unofficially planned all sorts of events before that for friends and friends-of-friends—it still gave her an embarrassing little thrill when people complimented the results.

“Of course!” Sarah replied. “I have to apologize for the terrible timing, though, I know a month is a nightmare. The thing is, we’d originally planned to do the wedding at the Governor’s Club because Jonas’ dad is a member and the club already has the full service for events, but it ended up falling through because, well…”

“... you had a knock-out, drag-down fight with the event planner?” an amused voice chimed in.

Lara Jean looked up to see Jonas, presumably, bearing three coffees and a ridiculous assortment of muffins, considering they were only three people. 

“He was just so mean!” Sarah said. “Like, I know the Governor’s Club is a big deal and everything, but he was so inflexible and stuffy and kept calling me young lady in this totally patronizing tone of voice…”

“I know, hon. It’s okay—I hated him, too,” Jonas said, squeezing Sarah’s hand briefly, before turning to Lara Jean. “So—you probably already know, but I’m Jonas. Thank you so, so much for meeting us, and I promise we won’t chase you off with a screaming fight. I hope.”

“Jonas!” Sarah exclaimed.

Lara Jean had to smile at that. “Don’t worry—I’m the middle child in between two sisters. A little screaming was every morning getting ready for school.”

Jonas and Sarah laughed at that. “God, tell me about it,” Jonas said. “I’m the youngest of four siblings—dinner could be a battle royale.”

“That’s just because you and Mark are little food hoarders,” Sarah interjected, rolling her eyes. “Your sisters probably had to fight you off just to get a bit of casserole!”

“Ooof! Lies, slander!” Jonas exclaimed.

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Sarah replied primly, and then winked at Lara Jean.

They were a truly lovely couple—the kind that made you smile to look at them, made you feel included. Planning an event for them would probably be amazing… if it wasn’t for the ghost of ex-boyfriends past.

“So, um. What did you think of our wishlist, Lara Jean?” Sarah asked. “Do you think you’d be up to doing the wedding? I know that the timeline is completely crazy, but the minister we chose is only available then and our families and friends had already bought their tickets and booked their hotels for that date, so we really didn’t want to change it.”

And as Sarah and Jonas looked at her hopefully, hands clasped on top of the table, Lara Jean couldn’t bring herself to refuse, Peter Kavinsky or not. She’d just have to deal. 

“I’d be honored to.”

+++

That night, when Lara Jean finally got home after going through venue options and the tightest event schedule she’d ever done after her dad and Trina’s wedding, and then spending the rest of the day at the office making phone calls and setting up appointments, she opened up her teal box.

Well, first she opened up a bottle of wine, poured herself a more-than-generous glass, and then she opened the teal box. It had her favorite stationery sets, and it still had the letters—the ones that had been returned to her, anyway—and her and Peter’s first contract, his notes from high-school, the yearbook with the second contract, a few letters he’d sent to UNC throughout freshman year… it also had an address book where she’d written Peter’s updated contact details after he’d sent one of those mass emails announcing that he’d taken a job as a physical therapist in the UVA Sports Department. 

After pouring herself another glass of wine, Lara Jean opened her white lilies stationery set, one she’d bought in Korea a year ago when she’d gone with Kitty and Margot again, and started to write. 

_Dear Peter,_

_I hope you’re doing alright. I know we haven’t spoken in a very long time, and that getting a letter out of the blue from me must be very strange._

_The thing is, I have a favor to ask. I’ve just been hired to plan Sarah Christopher and Jonas Malicki’s wedding, and I know you’ve been asked to be a groomsman (I guess the physical therapy world is kind of small!) This is a really big opportunity for me—if everything goes well, I could start doing events for UNC staff and teachers regularly, which would be huge. I know this is truly the strangest thing to ask, but do you think we could pretend not to know each other? ~~It’s just, if I get distracted~~. I’m afraid it might be a lot, if Sarah and Jonas know, and I want to keep it as professional as possible. Thanks so much, in advance, and sorry again for how strange it must be to get this._

_\- Lara Jean_

Margot would’ve probably said she was just running away from confronting the past, and Lucas would tell her that writing a letter— _another_ letter!—to ask Peter to pretend not to know her was completely counter-productive. But Lara Jean was buzzed enough, and worried enough, that it seemed like the best course of action, and she stuffed the letter into an envelope, addressed it, and stamped it before she could second-guess herself. The next morning, she asked Ana Maria to post it as express delivery, and hoped for the best.

A week later, coming back late to her house after a long day visiting Lavender Oaks Farm and Rigmor House with Sarah and Jonas and settling on the former as a venue, Lara Jean found a letter waiting for her, addressed in still-familiar handwriting.

She opened the envelope, apprehensive. Peter probably wouldn’t have written to tell her she was crazy, right? He maybe would’ve sicced Kitty on her, or maybe emailed her because he was an actual normal person who didn’t go around writing old-fashioned letters all over the place, especially not when they were drunk, and especially not to their ex. 

The letter inside, however, was straight to the point.

_Covey,_

_It’s a deal. No worries._

_Love,_

_Peter K._

Lara Jean sighed with relief, and put Peter’s letter back into the envelope. And yet, as she was getting ready for bed and trying to fall asleep, the “love” haunted her ever so slightly.

+++

Sarah and Jonas settled on Lavender Oaks Farm (and Lara Jean promised herself to always keep doing favors and baking cookies for venue owners because you really never knew when they’d come handy). Lara Jean, Silvie, and Johnny had worked out a menu that was simple but delicious, and the cake Lara Jean was planning on making—a banana-walnut caramel torte—could be a show-stopper if it came out right. Ana Maria had ensured they had the tables, linens, plates and glasses all ready; hired 30 servers and five additional cooks thanks to her ridiculous connections (the paycheck they’d be gettin from the event made it possible); and had found a pretty great DJ who had reasonable prices; thank god for college towns and eager music students. 

Evening Songs was as ready as it could be for the Christopher-Malicki nuptials. But Lara Jean? She was still freaking out. Today would be the casual wedding party dinner with the bridesmaids and groomsmen—two days before the actual wedding weekend—and Sarah and Jonas had asked her to be there so they could discuss the ceremony and the reception with everyone, especially the people coming from out of town (like Peter….) and “so we can treat you to some wine and amazing food at the Lantern!”, which they’d picked because it was one of the best Asian food restaurants in Chapel Hill and they wanted to thank Lara Jean for all her hard work. She sometimes kind of hated how nice Sarah and Jonas were—it made it impossible to say no to them.

So here she was, getting ready for dinner and for seeing Peter Kavinsky face to face again after nearly five years. Ordinarily, Lara Jean would have called Margot or Lucas for moral support over FaceTime, but it felt a little like cheating—she’d asked Peter to pretend that they didn’t know each other, so she wanted to do the same. Besides, she didn’t think she could really deal with all the questions and expectations and the fact that eventually Margot would probably let this whole thing slip to Kitty and Kitty would tell Trina and within a few hours, Lara Jean seeing Peter again would be a family-and-town-wide event. 

After taking a deep breath, Lara Jean smoothed down her dress, and walked into the restaurant.

“Hi—I’m here for the Christopher-Malicki event?” 

“Of course, right this way,” the hostess said, and led her to one of the larger tables near the back.

Lara Jean could see Sarah and Jonas talking animatedly to a few people, and when she got closer, she could immediately identify the tousled dark hair. Peter was here. 

“Lara Jean! Hi!” Sarah exclaimed as soon as she spied her, standing up to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it! Let me introduce you—you already know my maid of honor Gina from the menu tasting,but this is my sister Lisa, and my friends Jeannie and Dominique, who are also bridesmaids.”

Lara Jean nodded hello at the women, mentally matching the names to faces and responsibilities for the ceremony.

“And these are Jonas’ groomsmen! We’re still missing a couple, but this is Andrew— best man and Jonas’ little brother—Mike, and Peter. Everyone, this is Lara Jean, our event planner and total savior, basically.”

People said hello, some standing to shake her hand or thank her for the instructions and tips she’d sent them over the past few weeks for wardrobe options and hair and make-up places near the wedding venue., and then the moment she’d been dreading finally happened. She was standing in front of Peter Kavinsky, and he was smiling and shaking her hand, softly introducing himself, “Hi, Peter Kavinsky, very nice to meet you,” and Lara Jean could hardly breathe. 

Because he was doing exactly what she’d asked—there was nothing in his voice and manner that betrayed he knew her—and yet every single atom in her body was alight just by the brief touch of his hand, her stomach full of butterflies because of the long-missed, never-forgotten sound of his voice. He looked older, more settled into his skin, and yet Lara Jean could still see the gangly, confident boy who’d proposed they pretend to date, the boy who’d been her first kiss and her first time and her first heartbreak, the boy who’d written a contract promising he’d always love her. 

“Lara Jean Covey,” she replied, because it was all she could do. She’d asked him to pretend, and she’d have to pretend right back. Sarah was looking at them closely, something like curiosity on her face, but Lara Jean ignored it and gave Peter a small smile—god, she hoped it was a smile and not a crazy-person look—before sitting down. 

Things got a little bit easier once everyone settled down to eat—Jonas and Sarah dominated the conversation, and when they eventually started talking about the ceremony and asked Lara Jean to go through some of the key details, she felt more in control. It helped that she was sitting between Sarah and Gina, the maid of honor.

At some point during dessert—an amazing green tea ice-cream that Lara Jean was going to try to incorporate into a cake somehow—Gina switched seats with Mike and then Mike switched seats with Peter to talk to someone else, and so Lara Jean and Peter ended up next to each other. 

“So, uh. How long have you done events?” Peter asked, after they spent around five minutes in increasingly awkward silence. 

“Well, I actually started putting together some stuff for friends when I was still in college, kind of unofficially? But it turned out that I really liked it, and the events were turning out fine, so when I graduated I decided to open Evening Songs,” Lara Jean replied.

“Evening Songs…” Peter repeated.

“Yeah, uh. It’s after my mother,” Lara Jean said. She could see Peter swallow, almost like he was holding back an _“I know”_ , and she blurted out her own question before he could. “What do you do?”

“Oh, um. I’m a physical therapist—strength and conditioning—for the UVA lacrosse team,” Peter replied. “I—-I used to play, but I got hurt junior year and, uh. Well, I became very interested in physical therapy, ended up making a career of it.”

Something inside Lara Jean _hurt_ listening to Peter’s bare-bones description of what she knew had probably been a nightmare. Kitty had called her crying when Peter got hurt. Lara Jean herself had cried, feeling helpless and sad, everything made worse by the fact that she hadn’t had a right, anymore, to be by Peter’s side—he’d had a new girlfriend, by then, and Lara Jean hadn’t really known how to be there without jealousy and weirdness taking over. 

“I’m. I’m glad something good came out of it,” she eventually said, knowing her face was probably showing much more than she could actually put into words.

Peter smiled, though—sincerely, beautifully—and said, “Thank you, Lara Jean.”

“So, um, how did you and Jonas meet?” Lara Jean asked. And couldn’t look away for a second or bring herself to stop laughing as Peter expansively recounted a ridiculous story involving a regional physical therapy conference, unadvised drinking, and midnight skinny dipping. 

God, they were terrible at pretending they didn’t know each other. 

By the end of the night, when Lara Jean said goodbye to Sarah and Jonas, Sarah whispered “I figured you might like Peter—he seems totally your style!” and Lara Jean wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

+++

The second test came with the rehearsal dinner. 

Sarah and Jonas decided to host it at their house because they wanted something simple and intimate, but they didn’t want a formal sit-down dinner, so Lara Jean and Silvie had put together a series of tapas that could be passed around, while Johnny and his cousin were in charge of the drinks. 

Lara Jean was making her way out of the kitchen balancing two trays when Sarah’s cat got in the way, right in front of her feet. She made a quick left, trying to side-step him, and saw her life flash before her eyes as the prosciutto-wrapped caramelized peaches and the potato-and-chorizo tapas wobbled.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” a voice said, and then steady hands were wrapping around hers, ensuring the food didn’t fall. 

It was Peter, of course. They stood there, in the middle of the hallway, just looking at each other, Peter’s warm hands over hers. 

“Thank you,” Lara Jean eventually whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Peter whispered back.

Then Silvie called for Lara Jean inside the dining room, and the moment was gone. 

But even as Lara Jean and Silvie continued putting together tray after tray of tapas, and then cupcakes and cake-pops, she couldn’t stop thinking about that quiet little moment, or the feeling of Peter’s hands over hers, and it didn’t help that Peter kept _looking_ at her all night, so much so that Sarah and Jonas clearly noticed, if their totally unsubtle elbowing each other was anything to go by. 

It made her feel like she was sixteen again, wondering whether Peter’s hand in her back pocket and all his notes were real or just part of some game, but it also felt entirely new—like they were brand new people who’d connected, somehow, and every glance and every word exchanged felt charged and uncertain, every laugh felt like a triumph, every pause or hesitation like danger. It was as if pretending not to know each other had given them the freedom to know each other _now_ , as they were, as they’d become, without the weight of history. 

The night drew to a close and Silvie and Johnny and his cousin were helping her pack up, and Peter waved at her as he was leaving, prompting Johnny to say, “Man, that guy is gorgeous. You should really try to hit that at the wedding, LJ.”

“That would be completely unprofessional, Johnny,” Lara Jean protested.

But some part of her very much agreed.

Damn Peter Kavinsky.

+++

The wedding was actually going well. 

It’s not like it was unforeseen—Lara Jean and her team had worked non-stop over the past month, and she’d put every ounce of creativity she’d had into this, but it was still the biggest event that Evening Songs had ever done, and seeing it _work_ made Lara Jean feel so proud she could cry. 

Sarah looked absolutely radiant, Jonas looked like the happiest man in the entire world, the flowers were fragrant and none of the tea-candles had created any accidents so far, Sarah’s mom had complimented Lara Jean’s special prosciutto-wrapped baked chicken about five times, and the banana-walnut-caramel torte had turned out absolutely perfect.

At some point after dessert was served, Lara Jean finally took a break—or rather, Ana Maria strong-armed her into taking one. Lara Jean walked out of the barn where the reception had been set up and made her way to the little gazebo where the ceremony had been officiated, sitting down on the wooden steps and looking up into the darkening sky, the last beams of the sun cutting across the clouds. 

She’d done it. The biggest event Evening Songs had ever done, for UNC staff—at least twenty people had already asked for her card. She couldn’t wait to tell Margot and Trina, and Lucas had been pestering her for pictures all week; she had to remember to send him some when she got home tonight.

“Penny for your thoughts, Covey?”

Lara Jean looked down to see Peter walking towards her, two glasses of champagne in his hand. He offered one to her, but she shook her head.

“I’m not really supposed to drink on the job, Peter.”

“Come on—nobody’ll know. Promise I won’t tell.”

Lara Jean bit her lip, and then accepted the glass. She really shouldn’t, but maybe _one_ drink wouldn’t hurt. 

“So, what were you thinking about?” Peter asked.

“Well—just. How glad I am that everything’s going well,” Lara Jean replied.

“Going well? Lara Jean, it’s going perfect. Don’t sell yourself short,” Peter said. 

“Thank you. It’s just—this is literally the biggest thing we’ve ever done, and we put it together in a month. I’m still sort of terrified that the barn is going to collapse on top of everyone or that the DJ booth is going to catch fire or something.”

Peter laughed. “Jesus, Covey. Way to catastrophize.”

“I know, I know! It’s just super nerve-wracking,” Lara Jean shrugged, taking a small sip from her glass.

“Well, I think you can relax,” Peter said. “Jonas and Sarah are seriously about to float they’re so ecstatic, and I think Jonas’ sister is planning to kidnap you so you can always make her that walnut-banana cake.”

“Torte,” Lara Jean corrected.

“ _Torte_ , of course,” Peter chuckled. “Seriously, Lara Jean. It’s going amazing, and it was always going to. You’re really good at this. I...I know we’re not supposed to know each other, but I still remember your dad and Trina’s wedding. It was unbelievable what you put together.”

Lara Jean looked down at the ground, feeling her cheeks heat. “Thank you, Peter.” She took a deep breath, and looked up again, meeting his warm brown eyes. “And thank you so much, for what you did. I know it must’ve been totally weird, getting that letter, and that I must’ve looked a little bit crazy, but. But I appreciate it so much, that you went along with it, I really do.”

Peter gave her a crooked smile. “It was no problem, Covey. I understood. And you know I’ve never minded your little bit crazy.”

God, _this boy_. Lara Jean couldn’t help herself. She set her champagne glass to the side, and like gravity, like the most natural thing in the world, she felt herself lean towards Peter, and kissed him.

Peter’s arms went around her, one hand settling in the small of her back like it always had. But then, the other tugged at hair that had never been so short before, not while they’d been together, and she was sixteen and eighteen and twenty all over again, but also very much twenty-five years old, and this was Peter, this was Peter, this was _Peter_.

“Come back to my hotel with me?” Peter asked, when they parted for breath. “I know we’re keeping it between us, I know we don’t know each other. But Lara Jean, even if I’d just met you four days ago, I’d be asking this, because you’re—god. You’re perfect. And if these four days were all that I got, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

Lara Jean only had to think about it for a second. “Yes. Just. Let me get everything finished here, and. Yes.”

Peter smiled, big and beautiful, and Lara Jean couldn’t regret her answer even for a second.

Later that night, wrapped in Peter’s arms, she could regret it even less. 

+++

Lara Jean couldn’t quite stop thinking about the kisses they’d shared, the way Peter’s body had felt against hers again, after so long, and it was becoming a problem. She was trying the raspberry-almond-whipped cream cake again, and it had been difficult enough under normal circumstances, without the added distraction. 

The thing was, they’d had a perfect night together. They’d come together knowing nearly everything about each other but also brand new to each other—brand new to the way their bodies had changed, to how they’d both settled into themselves. It was exactly what Lara Jean had been missing, but also like something she hadn’t really known to wish for. 

And the morning after, when she woke up in his arms,, she just felt too scared to ruin it—to tell Peter they should see each other again, maybe, because how would that even work? She lived in Chapel Hill, he lived in Charlottesville; she had Evening Songs and he had the Sports Department—same song, different verse. And don’t even get her started if Margot, her dad and Trina got wind of it; they’d try to plan the wedding before they even got past one date. 

So they’d kissed goodbye, no promises made, no plans planned. Like strangers. Like Lara Jean had wanted, or thought she had.. 

She was actually glad when her phone rang, because she could already tell the damn cake was going to end up as much of a failure as the previous ones, and she was surprised to see Kitty’s name in the caller ID. Her sister hated calling—she was a hard-core texter. 

“Kitty? Is everything alright?”

_”Hi, Lara Jean—yeah, I just. Uh, I have some big news. And a request.”_

“Of course, Kitty. What is it?”

_“I’m. Sophie and I. We’re getting married.”_

“Oh my god, Kitty! That’s amazing!” Lara Jean exclaimed. Kitty and Sophie had been going out for almost three years. They already lived together, but Kitty had been a little scared to actually pop the question—as if Sophie would ever say no. They were perfect together. “Congratulations!”

_“Thank you. What I wanted to ask—what we wanted to ask—-is if you’d plan the wedding? I know you don’t really do events here in Charlottesville, but-”_

“Of course I’ll do it, Kitty!” Lara Jean interrupted. “I’d be honored!”

It was only once they hung up, after discussing potential menus and styles and trying to talk Kitty down from a mini panic attack, that Lara Jean realized something: Kitty was going to invite Peter to the wedding. Obviously. 

Oh, god, not _again_.

+++

It was Peter who sent the letter, this time. Just a short note:

_Covey -  
We’ll play it however you want. However you need. If it’s too much, I’ll pretend to have a highly contagious disease. Just say the word._

_~~I’m sorry I didn’t call, I just~~ _

_Love, Peter K._

And Lara Jean felt something inside her chest swell, felt herself smile helplessly, her eyes watering. Kitty would absolutely kill Peter if he tried to miss her wedding, would literally hire a hitman to go after him, but here he was, offering just so she wouldn’t feel stressed. Because this was who Peter Kavinsky was, because this was who Peter Kavinsky was for her. For _her._

She knew what she had to do, now. She picked up the phone, and called Ana Maria—she wasn’t going into the office today.

Three hours and a bit later, after a drive that felt strangely shorter than it had been, Lara Jean was in front of Peter Kavinsky’s door and psyching herself up to knock. She paced back and forth for a moment, went down the front steps and back up, and steeled herself. She’d _driven_ here—she wasn’t going to just leave. With firm nod, she finally rang the doorbell.

“Lara Jean?” Peter was wide-eyed. “How - where - what are you doing here?”

“Uh. Well. I got your note,” Lara Jean replied, taking the note out of her skirt pocket.

Peter just stared at her for a moment, and then looked down at the note. He nodded, and then, as if bracing himself, asked, “So? Are we meeting for the third time, then?”

Lara Jean smiled. “No. We’re meeting for forever. If you want.”

Peter just stared at her, eyes wide.

Oh god, what if he hadn’t meant the note like that? He was probably just being nice. He was Peter Kavinsky, for god’s sake, of course he was nice! Him not wanting her to have a weird time at Kitty’s wedding didn’t mean he wanted them to get back together. Lara Jean felt like a complete idiot. And also felt like crying, when she realized she’d have to drive back. 

“Oh god, of course you don’t want. I’m so sorry for just showing up like this, not even calling. I’ll get out of your hair,” she said, turning away.

“No, wait!” Peter exclaimed, hand shooting out to hold her wrist. “I want. I really want. I—I’m so sorry I didn’t call, Lara Jean. I just, it was like magic, seeing you again, but I knew that if I called you I’d just want more, and…”

“It’s okay, Peter. I get it,” Lara Jean said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, but I didn’t know how to make it work. And then I got your note, and—god. It just seemed so silly. We’re adults, aren’t we? Like, I understand why the distance was too hard last time, but we can get through it now, right?”

“Well, uh. I might have been working on that,” Peter said.

“What do you mean?” Lara Jean asked.

“I may have been bugging Jonas incessantly until he got me an interview at the UNC Sports Department?” 

“Peter! Really?”

“I couldn’t let you go again, Lara Jean,” Peter said. “I—I’ve missed you so much, I missed you the second we broke up. I’m just sorry that it took so long for me to do something about it.”

And without further ado, he stepped close, leaned down, and kissed her like the world was about to end. He pulled back after a moment, frowning.

“What?” Lara Jean asked.

“How did you get here?”

“I drove,” Lara Jean replied, uncertain why this was putting a stop to the kissing. The kissing was way more important than transportation logistics, god, Peter!

“You drove?” Peter repeated, voice amazed. “Jesus, Covey. You really _do_ love me.”

Lara Jean huffed out a laugh, but couldn’t really disagree. “Just shut up and kiss me, Kavinsky.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter replied. And finally went back to the kissing.

+++

_“Here when I say "I never want to be without you,"_  
somewhere else I am saying   
"I never want to be without you again." And when I touch you   
in each of the places we meet 

_in all of the lives we are, it's with hands that are dying_  
and resurrected.   
When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life,  
in each place and forever. “  
\- Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem, Bob Hicok 


End file.
